


Promise

by skinandearth



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016 Winter Classic, Angst, Fights, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5740360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinandearth/pseuds/skinandearth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrice knows that Brad is lost, centering and trying to navigate uncharted territory. He thinks that it’s Brad’s turn to know how it feels when the one person you can count on to have your back is suddenly not there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise

*

5-1. They lose. At home, against the Canadiens, in Foxboro, in front of thousands upon thousands of fans, and he’s pissed beyond belief.

 

He doesn’t think he’s ever sworn at his teammates this many times, but he’s furious. Furious at himself, furious at his teammates, furious at the Habs, the only way to describe his mood is  _ fucking pissed _ and he wants to throw something, punch someone, yell, scream, cry, he’s a violent mess of emotions and he knows he’s going to crumple.

 

He doesn’t even look at Brad when he comes in the locker room, still in his suit and tie, brown eyes wide and sad, he ignores him and continues undressing, showering, and putting on his suit. They don’t even walk together down the hall, but he knows Brad is staring at him when he disappears through the doors, hears one of the guys running after Brad to pull him back to the locker room. 

 

*

 

He turns his phone off.

 

*

 

“Kells, have you heard from Bergy? He isn’t answering his phone,” Brad worries. 

 

“Marchy, just give him some space. Okay? I’m sure he’s fine,” Krech pats him on the shoulder, walking out of the room.

 

“But where is he?” He frets.

 

Kells rolls his eyes, “Come on, dumbass, where do you think he’d be? Look, he’s not going to want to talk to you. Don’t force him.”

 

Brad nods and grabs his coat, running out to his car and gunning the engine. The drive is long, too long, and he pulls up to Ristccutia and unlocks the door. He hears puck after puck flying at the net, sits down on the bench as he watches Bergy take his anger out. He wants to intervene but he knows he shouldn’t, only moving when Bergy skates towards the locker room, still in his suit but now taking off his skates, socks padding slowly towards the door as Marchy rushes to catch up with him. 

 

*

 

Patrice takes a maintenance day the next practice. He practically begs Claude to let him, knowing full-well that he doesn’t do this unless he’s sick, but he just can’t face Brad right now. He feels a grim sense of satisfaction when he hears from Tukks later that Brad was centering their line with Loui and Conns, hearing about how Brad looked so  _ lost  _ on the ice, but Bergy can’t bring himself to care much about that either.

 

Patrice knows that Brad is lost, centering and trying to navigate uncharted territory. He thinks that it’s Brad’s turn to know how it feels when the one person you can count on to have your back is suddenly not there.

 

*

 

“What does Brad do for you?”

 

“Everything.”

 

*

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

It’s the first time Patrice has cared enough to listen. 

 

“I promise, Patrice, it’s not going to happen again.”

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he mutters, turning away. He tries to pretend he doesn’t notice the hurt on Brad’s face.

 

*

Brad returns to his left, and it’s almost like things have gone back to normal. Patrice knows that Brad hasn’t gotten a single point in almost 10 games, and he hopes, like all linemates do, that the slump ends soon. Brad has been quiet, tentative even around his teammates, and while he’s an asshole who never shuts up and chirps with every breath he takes he also shouts encouragement to all the guys on the ice and this quiet is so foreign and he hates it. 

 

He stays up at night, wondering where they went wrong.

 

*

 

Brad doesn’t know what he’s doing, showing up at Patrice’s house, at 2 in the morning nonetheless when the other man is sure to be asleep. But he lets himself in anyways, curls up on the sofa and grabs the fleece blanket he got Patrice for his birthday a few years ago. He wakes up when the sun is over the horizon and gets to work making breakfast, not turning when he sees Bergy out of the corner of his eyes, hair ruffled from sleep and eyes blinking slowly.

 

They’re quiet when they eat, and he hates it. He misses Patrice so much it hurts.

 

*

 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.” 

 

Patrice nods. “I know.”

 

“You’re still mad?”

 

He sighs. “That I don’t know.”

 

“There’s gotta be something I can do!” Brad sighs. “I want things to be okay between us again, Patrice. I fucking miss you! I mean it! I’m not afraid to beg it that’s what it takes.”

 

Patrice wants to hurt him so bad, wants to say  _ fuck you it should’ve been us _ but he doesn’t. “I wanted to win with you.”

 

Brad looks down, and Patrice thinks he hears him sniffle a bit. “I know. I’m so sorry, Patrice. I’m gonna be better.”

 

*

 

Things don’t magically get better after that. They start speaking again, they hang out again, but Patrice is still angry. Brad knows it, knows that he just has to let it die, and focuses more on his own game, trying to get out of his slump.

 

“Hey, Bergy, can we go back to your place?” Brad asks suddenly.

 

Patrice nods. “Yeah, sure. You’re driving though.”

 

*

 

“Why are you still giving me the cold shoulder?” Brad asks when they get inside. “It’s been weeks, Patrice, you need to get over it already!”

 

Patrice turns and glares at the shorter man. “I need to get over it? Why don’t you stop being such a piece of shit about this! I’m fucking pissed at you, Brad! You knew that it wasn’t going to end well, and you could’ve done something about it! Don’t make those god damn cow eyes at me! Where were you when I needed you? You know that I can’t do it without you! I fucking love you, Brad, but my god you’re an idiot!”   
  
Brad is stunned silent when Patrice starts yelling at him. He feels his eyes well with tears and before he knows it, he’s launched himself at Patrice, wrapping around him as his legs give out and he  _ cries _ .

 

“I’m sorry!” Brad wails, “What else do you want me to say? I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, I’m sorry you’re angry at me, I’m sorry I’m not good enough!”

 

Patrice pauses when he hears that, “Brad?”

 

The short winger gets up, wiping his eyes. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just… I’m gonna go. I’m sorry.” And with that, he runs out the door. 

 

*

 

He finds Brad in the park, shivering on the bench in the snow. Patrice pulls him up, dragging him back to the car and turning the heat on full blast.

 

“Come on. We’re going home.”

 

Brad sniffles again. “You’re not going to start yelling again, right?”

 

Patrice nods. “I won’t. I’m sorry I lost it on you back there. I’m angry at you but you’re right, it’s been weeks now and it’s not helping.”

 

Brad doesn’t meet his eyes when Patrice pulls his shoes and socks off, doesn’t speak when Patrice grabs an old t-shirt and pulls it over Brad’s bare chest, pushing him back onto the bed and pulling him close. He makes a soft noise when Patrice’s lips meet his, moving slowly against his chapped lips, warm and soft and inviting. He wants to cry again at the feeling. Patrice gently pulls away, regarding him with soft, warm, loving eyes. He grabs Marchy’s hand, squeezing gently as he pulls the blankets up and over them. 

 

“Do you forgive me?” Brad’s voice is small.

 

“Yeah.” Patrice pecks him on the lips again. “I do.”

 

“Hey Patrice?”

 

“What?”   
  


“Do you love me?”

 

Patrice pauses for a second, eyes thoughtful. “Yeah. I do.”

 

“Good. Cause I love you too.” 

 

He closes his eyes, letting his breathing mirror Patrice’s, a small smile on his face as he feels gentle fingers card through his hair, Patrice’s warm breath in his ear.

 

“Je t’aime, Brad. Sweet dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> ;_; I have so many feels about these two and there was almost hatesex but I'm glad there wasn't.


End file.
